Winds
by lyner
Summary: A stand alone piece depicting Ororo from the eyes of an individual.


Hi! I have a new fic. I miss writing. Love to be writing. (:

Disclaimer: i don't own the x men, they belong to Marvel.

**Winds**

I am Lionel. I can fly. But never like the way she does.

I sat far away from the mansion, as far as flying had taken me today – to a quiet mound looking over the silent town of Westchester, and the house, with its glimmering windows reflecting an afternoon sun, just a little off to my right. The winds had been easy, pleasant and kind all day, and the high winds as calm as the low winds and the breezes in between. A beautiful day. I sank myself deeper into the grass, and made myself comfortable where I sat.

I looked up and saw her in the sky. From where I sat I could see her calmly gliding across the sky just above me. Much, much higher than where I sat, but I could see her clearly enjoying herself as she flew, and she felt nearby. She flew among the clouds and baby raindrops, in a place that held important things like the storms or the rainbows, somewhere she liked to go off to, as I often saw, to spend time alone by herself. I had never stayed to watch her fly before, usually I would see her just outside through the window, or when she flew higher than me as I flew from place to place. Today, when I had stopped at my quiet mound, I found that when she flew, it was a beautiful thing to see. She looked almost still from my perspective, because she was so far away. Only her hair followed any breath of wind that she found up there, and she moved through the sky like she was part of it, an accepted and respected member of it. Her white hair looked soft blue like the clouds from this distance, blending in with the vast blue expanse. A vast blue expanse that was mirrored and summarized in her crystal blue eyes, blue eyes that connected the sea, the rain, the clouds, the lightning, the thunder, the snow and the air.

She spun in the air in a simple cartwheel. It was odd to see in the light, mild sky, because it was suddenly jovial and free and full of delight. I looked at her and believed she would have giggled. She was a merry cheer in a sky happy to have her. Then she did the cartwheel again. She practiced, trying to spin better with the wind, I guessed. She did it with a fair amount of thought, and an importance that made me, watching her, understand its importance as well. It was important to her, to be like one with the gusts of wind, and to be whisked along like a raindrop in a river. She wanted to be understood, by something, a sky, that seemed hardly to understand anyone. It was as if she had the desire to be heard and listened to by this gentle ubiquitous giant that covered the earth, and a plea for it to know her as she hoped to know it. She wanted to keep a subtle rapport with the sky so that she could tell it private things just like she hoped it would tell her, and so that it would watch over her as much as she would watch over it. I thought so, in the way I saw her fly. And then I knew so, from the same way I saw her fly. She wanted to have it care for her, as much she would care for it herself.

She sought perfection and a unity to all things, I saw. She searched for a reason and a purpose to bind all, and the essence of Earth and Life to wrap around it. She needed everything to be certain and sure, like the way she felt knowing her place in the sky, knowing what she needed of it and what she gave to it. She needed exact measure and assurance in which everything could be perfect; perfect and beautiful and right. I knew this too in the way I had seen her care for her plants in the greenhouse. I could never understand what she knew among the small flowers and leaves, the tiny pieces of nature, but from the way that she cared for them, like how she would care for every snowflake, I understood that everything mattered to make a large and wonderful whole. A wholeness that meant the stars, the soil, the night sky and the daylight sky, and love, and anger, and passion, and calm. She needed everything to be pure and right, and I saw that she would always search for it, in herself most of all, to live up to what nature expected of her, and in her line of life, what the whole world expected of her. She wanted the most of herself so that she would be true to everything she believed in, so that she would never fail what was right and what depended on her. And in doing that, I saw that it gave to her love from an inner peace satisfaction, love from the people, and the wind, all around her.

Up in the sky, she stayed herself against the current, and then let it blow her away, then stayed again, then let it blow her as it liked again. I looked at her and wondered if she had thought that this was where she would be one day. She seemed so very convinced and sure now that I wondered what she must have thought or decided when she trekked across a desert, or made her life among the streets, as a child. Was her heart set in ambition and her eyes set to the sky? I wondered. But for sure, I think I could tell, she had always been who she was. She always believed with the same kind of passion and knew wonder for what it was and promise for what it held. And as I watched at her still, I thought, I believed in her.

She descended toward me, her hair making a trail of windy wake behind her. She landed on the slope of my quiet mound and gave me a smile, so I grinned back. "Would you like to fly with me?", she said. Then we flew where the wind would take us.


End file.
